


Hindrance

by animehead



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gas Masks, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:00:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animehead/pseuds/animehead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The masks definitely get in the way, but Jake finds them useful on occasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hindrance

You ignore the way sweat rolls down your cheek. It’s uncomfortable, the rubber material surrounding your face, straps secured tightly at the back of your head. Your face is warm, heated beneath the contraption, which was both designed and alchemized specifically for you. Your breathing is amplified, loud even to your own ears. It’s annoying, but tolerable and you can definitely handle it.  
  
 _It’s the way he straddles you that you’re still having trouble getting used to._  
  
You’d like to be able to take the mask off, to grip him by his shirt and pull him flush against you. You want to run your fingers through his hair without the nuisance of straps and bands hindering your fingers from gliding freely. But you’ll have other times for that, times where it’s just the two of you and fresh clean air with no monsters lurking about, wanting to attack you almost as much as you want to annihilate them.  
  
He has reservations with moaning too loudly, the jerk. But you suppose it makes sense. The last thing you want is for one of those creatures to overhear you and come sniffing you out. But still, you like to hear how much he enjoys it, how good it feels to him. You’re not an expert at this, neither of you are, so sprinkling you with a bit of encouragement is a good thing.  
  
You slide one hand up his hip and grip, pressing blunt fingernails against warm skin. You bend your knees slightly, grinding the heel of your boots into the cracked floor beneath you. When you raise your hips and slam up into him, he moans _slightly_ , but his mask catches the sound, highlights it, tells you that yes, _you_ , Jake English are giving it to him good.  
  
He leans forward then, his fingers splayed out upon your chest. He grinds down, hips circling, rocking, gently at first, but building momentum and you can do nothing but groan and look up at him, hating both of your stupid masks and longing desperately to stare into his eyes.  
  
The mask dangerously decreases your peripheral vision, but not enough for you to miss a flash of something a few feet behind him. With your free hand, you reach off to the side and retrieve one of your guns. Polished and golden, it glints in the darkness, moonlight illuminating it. Dirk never stops riding you, even when he sees you go for you gun, even when he knows that something must be there, something that could potentially kill him.  
  
 _He trusts you that much._  
  
You don’t think twice when you pull the trigger. The sound of blood and guts and dying rings out through the air, but you’re more interested in the heavy breathing coming from Dirk’s mask. His thighs squeeze you, cock drags back and forth across your abdomen. You’re still sitting up, so you take this opportunity to place your gun next to you in case you need to use it again.  
  
Dirk’s hands grip your shoulders, fingers gently grazing your not-so-new-anymore ink. There’s still minimal lingering pain around one of the eyes where he dug the needle in too hard, but otherwise, you sometimes forget it’s there.  
  
You grab him by the wrists and drape both of his arms over either of your shoulders. The rotation of his hips become rough and rampant, his body warning you that’s he’s close. He clings to you when you grab his hips, force him down, hold him still and take control. It doesn’t take long after that—a few powerful thrusts, your hand wrapped around his cock, palm slick with precum aiding you as you stroke him, firm and slow, just the way he likes it.  
  
The fricking mask muffles and alters your name when he shouts it, his cum, warm and thick spilling into your palm. He shudders and groans and you chuckle because he sounds sort of like Darth Vader, which is as much hilarious as it is disturbing.  
  
He leans forward and presses his head against yours, making both of your masks bump together softly. It’s about as close as a kiss as you’re going to get on this god forsaken land, so you appreciate it.  
  
Dirk climbs off of you, but only for a second to flip his position. He straddles you again, giving you the perfect view of the back of his head, his shirt covered torso, and his unbelievably lovely ass. You can only imagine how sensitive he is, but that doesn’t stop him from bucking down against you, making you cry out, with that bloody mask dulling the sound.  
  
He rides you hard and fast and you reach up to grip the hem of his shirt, pulling it like a horse’s reins and driving you both wild. He grips your thighs, squeezing them while he raises his hips and ass just high enough for you to watch your cock disappear inside him.  
  
And Jiminy Christmas that’s hot and totally to blame for the shout that comes from your mouth even if the mask makes it sound like you’re in intense pain rather than blissful pleasure.  
  
 _Actually, you’re almost certain there’s a really thin line between those two things._  
  
“God, I love you, Dirk,” you say without actually _realizing_ it. You do, however, realize it a second later when he turns around and responds with a genuine muffled, “What?”  
  
He didn’t hear you.  
  
You think, maybe, those masks aren’t so bad after all. 


End file.
